


Forced to Retire

by geezers



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geezers/pseuds/geezers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/9132.html?thread=3587244#t3587244">this</a> prompt in fk2 wherein injury forces Iker into early retirement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forced to Retire

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure where to take this, so it is unfinished.

“Ramos, are you ready?” the referee placed a hand on Sergio’s shoulder.

Without uttering a word, Sergio nodded. His throat was tight and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster a coherent response.

He was the captain.

Not just for one match. Not while Iker was being rested. But for the foreseeable future. That day when Iker had come home his face gaunt, and his mouth pressed it a straight line is one that Sergio remembers all to vividly.

_”Iker, please. Please tell me what’s going on.” Sergio pleaded with the older man, who hadn’t said anything since he returned to their apartment._

_Still the goalkeeper looked ahead, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Sergio was scared, whatever was wrong, Iker was never silent. Usually he babbled when he was scared or nervous, so the lack of speech really scared Sergio._

_“That’s it.” Iker finally mumbled, his voice breaking._

_“What does that mean?” Sergio asked, cupping his boyfriend’s chin and moving his head so they were facing one another. He put both hands on Iker thighs and rubbed soothingly, hoping to coax more words from him._

_Iker sniffed and looked Sergio dead in the eye, almost unnervingly so. “The break didn’t heal like the doctors thought. I can’t play anymore.”_

Walking out on to the pitch was almost overwhelming. It was the first match of the season – the team felt good, training had been going well (though it felt like it was lacking somewhat without Iker) and they were raring to go.

Leading his team out, as the official Real Madrid captain, was something Sergio dreamed of for years, but the way it happened, the events that led to that moment soured it. He would give everything back if it meant that Iker could still play – he had years left at the top and it was cruelly ripped away from him.

“Lets go, Capi!” Varane called over as the whistle was blown, commencing the game.

Sergio went through the game almost on autopilot – a block here, a tackle there – he was just going through the motions. It wasn’t long before Benzema struck, putting Real in front. But not having his rock behind him in the goal calling out instructions was a lot more off-putting for Sergio than it had ever been before. Maybe it was the sense of finality. Sergio knew he’d probably never play again with Iker behind him in goal and that thought cost him. The opposition’s striker had just galloped past him unchallenged and slotted the ball in the net.

Dropping his head Sergio pushed the heels of hands over his eyes – he needed to get his ass into gear. Moping about Iker’s absence wasn’t going to help the team.

It was the 89th minute and the score was still 1-1, Cristiano’s trickery had won Real a corner. Sergio jogged downfield and waited on the penalty spot. Mesut floated the ball in and Sergio dropped his shoulder and slipped away from his marker. Timing his jump perfectly, he hung in the air and the ball collided with his head, sending it like a bullet into the back of the net. The fans at the Bernabeu erupted into cheers, as did Sergio’s teammates, piling on top of him as he slid on his knees towards the corner flag. When they’d all dispersed, Sergio pulled himself up and pointed to the crest on his shirt and then up to the box that he knew Iker was sitting in. To the cameras he’s just be declaring his love for the club. But to Sergio, Iker was the embodiment of Real Madrid. And then he knew that however many years left he had playing for the club, he wasn’t only playing for himself – he was playing for Iker too.

 

 

Since his career ended, and after he had spent a week or so moping around the apartment, Iker sprung into action. Sergio watched as he spent hours on his laptop, or writing in a notebook, watching matches on the TV. Iker didn’t seem care what level it was, or what country it was – England, France, Germany, Spain, Brazil, America, Scotland, Turkey - he watched the match and wrote detailed notes, filling up notebooks by the week.

At first, Sergio hadn’t bothered to question him – he was just happy that Iker was keeping himself busy - but soon his curiosity got the better of him. He flopped down on the sofa next to Iker who was scribbling furiously while watching Borussia Dortmund playing Borussia Monchengladbach on TV.

“One sec.” Scribble. “We can talk,” Scribble. “At half time”. Scribble. Iker responded not taking his eyes of the screen. Sergio smiled at his concentration and saw that it was the 42nd minute of the half. He peered over Iker’s hunched shoulder and to the page that he was writing on, the older man’s handwriting was so small and messy Sergio wondered how Iker ever deciphered what he’d written down.

The whistle blew, signalling the half was over, and Iker closed his notebook, absently scratching at his beard as he turned to look at Sergio.

“What’s up?” Iker asked, smiling lazily at him.

Sergio couldn’t help but smile back, “What exactly is it that you’re doing? With all the notebooks, it’s like you’re writing a novel!”

Iker grabbed a letter off the table and showed it to Sergio, who skimmed over the words. It was from the Real Federación Española de Fútbol, and it detailed that Iker had applied to start working towards getting his coaching badges.

“You want to become a coach?” Sergio’s eyes widened.

Nodding enthusiastically, Iker yelped when Sergio launched himself into the older man’s arms. “I’m so happy for you Iker – you’re going to be an amazing coach!” He kissed Iker’s lips softly, pride threatening to burst from his insides.

Sergio managed to convince Iker just to watch the second half of the match without taking notes. The defender rested his head on Iker’s chest, who wrapped his arms around Sergio’s shoulders as the second half began. It had been a mere 5 minutes when Sergio felt Iker’s arm move away, from the corner of his eye, Sergio saw Iker trying to reach for his notebook.

With a glance upwards, Sergio laughed seeing Iker sticking his tongue out of his mouth as he tried to reach the pad without alerting Sergio. “Go on,” Sergio spoke. “Keep writing notes!”

He sat up getting out of Iker’s way. “Thank you,” Iker kissed Sergio’s cheek as he started writing down speedily.  
A few weeks later, the pair had decided to go to a nearby café for lunch. Almost as soon as they’d set foot out of the apartment, they heard the incessant clicking of paparazzi cameras. It _was_ rare that Iker was out of the house since he announced his retirement, the only place he went regularly was the Bernabeu to watch matches at his therapist’s suggestion (and he only had a therapist because Sergio had begged him to go and get all his feelings off his chest in a safe environment).

While they were walking out of the café after their meal, pastries safely wrapped up in a paper bag that was being carried by Iker, Sergio stopped abruptly by the notice board that was by the door.

“Iker, look!” he pointed to piece of green paper that was stapled to the board.

It read: _Local under-11 team in need of a manager!_

Sergio ripped it from the board and walked out on to the street, tapping the number on the flyer into his phone.

“Hello,” Sergio spoke, pulling Iker by the sleeve as they began walking back to their apartment.

“Yes, I’m interested in taking the position,” Sergio said confusing the older man. Seconds later, he said into the phone, “My name is Iker.”

After they’d cross the road and Iker was fumbling in his pocket for the keys to let them into their apartment building, Sergio said, “I’d be able to start right away. When is the next practice session so I can come down and meet the team?”

“Tomorrow?” Iker watched Sergio intently; surely he wasn’t going to get him to go. “Tomorrow sounds great!” He hung up the phone and grinned at the taller man.

“Did you just get me a job?”

“That I did,” Sergio said, swanning past him and into their apartment. “It’ll be good for you, they’re only 11 years old, so not too much pressure. Come on, can you imagine their faces when they see that Iker Casillas - _San Iker_ is their new coach?”

Iker smiled at the thought and began to realise maybe this could be the beginning of the next phase in his life.

 

 

Sergio had been right. The first time he met the boys, they had all been in complete shock. A couple refused to believe that he was real; others asked him to sign their jerseys, and the rest stood back mouths ajar at having one of their idols standing in front of them.

The current manager, a young man called Alfonso, was going to take the session while Iker watched on. When the two men had met earlier to fine tune the details of Iker taking over the team, Alfonso had divulged that the reason that he was leaving was that he was in his final year at university doing a degree in Sports Journalism. His studies were taking up all of his free time.

“Well, if you ever need a hand to kick start your career – I know a few people.” Iker winked at the younger man who giggled nervously, still in shock himself that Spain’s most famous goalkeeper was sitting across from him.

As the boys ran a few drills, Iker was poised with his pen and notebook, ready to write down anything he noticed about them. He already enjoyed Alfonso’s approach to coaching; he kept it fun for the boys. Although a large portion of the session was spent doing drills and perfecting skills, there was also a lot of games, to stop it getting too boring – the boys were only 11 after all.

When the session was over, all the boys crowded around Iker as they drank little bottles of fruit smoothie that Alfonso’s mama made for every training session/match. Then the questions started, it was like a mini press conference (although the kids weren’t looking for a way to twist his words that would help sell newspapers).

“Iker, what was it like winning the World Cup?”

“Iker did you like being the captain of La Selección?”

“Who was your best friend on the team?”

He answered all of them without a problem, and he did so a little more honestly than he ever had before. Iker wanted to inspire these kids, to instil the passion for the game that he had in them.

When the group dispersed, going off to their respective parents, Iker felt a tug on his sleeve. A little boy with long brown hair down to his shoulders was looking up at him with wide eyes. Iker recognised him immediately, he was one of the smallest in stature on the team, yet he whizzed around the other boys like he’d been doing it all his life. Iker thought that Cristiano would love him.

“Iker, are you sad not playing for Real Madrid anymore?”

The question caught him off guard, like a sucker punch to the gut. The rest of the questions had been about his successes, things he was more than happy to recall – but this, this was something he hadn’t let himself ever ponder. He knew he had to answer the question though.

Crouching down to the boy’s level and noticing the back of his shirt said ‘UNAI’ in block letters above the number 7, Iker answered. “Unai, you know that’s my brother’s name, right?” To which his eyes brightened and he blushed slightly. “Well, I do miss playing for Real Madrid, they’re my favourite team. I love them with all my heart and always will. The Bernabeu is my home.” His throat tightened, so he tried to lighten his thoughts. “But, if I was still playing there, I wouldn’t be able to coach all of you little rascals, now would I?” Iker beamed, picking Unai up and throwing him over his shoulder and taking him over to his parent (he only knew who they were as they were the last in the parking lot).

“See you next week, buddy!” Iker said as he closed the door to the car.

Entering the apartment, Iker was surprised to see Sergio on the sofa, in nothing but his underwear. As soon as the younger man realised that Iker had returned he was up like a shot. “How did it go?”

Iker laughed at his eagerness and kissed him before walking round him and into the living room. “It was fine, the boys were all great. I’m really excited to start coaching them, they’re all so young and enthusiastic!” Iker hadn’t realised how excited he was about this coaching job until then. He was completely ready to dedicate the rest of his life to football; in whatever capacity he could manage.


End file.
